Moving On
by Rosy52
Summary: This is a NiniArgentinean story, revolving around the Tango scene. While dancing, Nini relives the past few weeks, and how it all ended. Rating for implied sexviolence. Nothing explicit though. Note: Title suggestions are always welcome :)
1. Tango

Disclaimer: All characters used in this story are property of Baz and all the other geniuses behind the movie Moulin Rouge. I'm getting no money out of the deal, so yada yada yada, in the end; it's just my story. Same goes for the song and any quotes used from the move. There is no infringement intended, so don't even go there. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Moving on, I'd like to give a special thanks to my school, for if the classes weren't so dull, I might never get any writing done. And now, on with the show!  
  
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Moving On  
  
Nini simply couldn't help herself. There sat Christian, the love- struck young writer, pining away for his dear Satine, whilst she did her business by the Duke upstairs. It was an opportunity she could not pass up, especially after the mess he had made earlier. The fool had all but confessed to the affair right in front of the Duke. Now she walked sassily up to Christian, ready to have her fun. Lounging nonchalantly in the poor mans lap, Nini quipped,  
  
"Don't worry, Shakespeare! You'll get your ending," she began, mock sympathy dripping from her voice, ".once the Duke gets his.end.in." she finished, cradling his face to insure he heard it all. Scowling, Christian rose from his seat, pushing Nini abruptly from her place. Whirling about, she lunged at him, indignantly shouting, "You keep your hands off me." If not for the Argentineans quick thinking, she may well have reached him. However, as it was, he seemed to catch her just in time, restraining the furious attack. The Argentinean whispered soothing words, and eventually she was calmed. Placing one small kiss on her shoulder, he turned back to the writer, prepared to share words of wisdom with the young man.  
  
"Never fall in love with a woman who sells herself. It always ends bad!" Nini was ready to kick him, a formidable threat considering her shoes. Still, she refrained. Really, she couldn't begrudge him bitterness, considering everything that had happened. But it was over now. It was time to move on, and put the past where it belonged, behind them. Unfortunately, that was not to be. Moments later, the Argentinean's voice boomed as he walked down the gilded staircase, calling everyone's attention to him.  
  
"We have a dance! In the brothels of Buenos Aires." Nini's mind filled with the exotic stories whispered to her over the last few weeks in the dark of night; stories of intrigue, danger, and romance. They had led her far from the gaudy surrounding of the Moulin Rouge, into his world. A stab of regret came with the realization that there would be no more stories, no more escapes. The Argentinean snapped his fingers, cueing Satie to begin the music, and continued. "Tells a story.of a prostitute." out of nowhere, a spotlight came on, blinding Nini with light. Unthinking, she went along with it, emitting her trademark cackle amid the uneasy laughter of their audience and sauntering down the stairs to center stage. "And a man." the Argentinean finished, joining her on stage and lowering his voice, "who falls in love with her." 


	2. Desire

Standing across from each other, the two faced off. Nini fidgeted, impatient for the Argentinean to make a first move. As if reading her thoughts, the music began, a haunting beat, and without thought they began to circle one another, preparing for what was to come. Just as the silent looks from all around began to disturb Nini, the Argentineans voice cut through it all.  
  
"First there is desire." Following his lead, Nini stepped forward till the two dancers were a hairsbreadth apart. So close that she could hear his shallow breaths, feel the heat of his hand as it traced down her body, never touching. And as simply as that, she was back. Back to the day that it all began. The day she met him for the first time. No, that wasn't true. Looking back, she realized that she had seen him before, danced with him as well. He was somewhat of a regular at the Moulin Rouge, most often sneaking in to avoid the door guards (as well as save his money for absinth, she presumed.) But it wasn't until this particular night that he made an impression. And that was only chance, his.condition.acting up.  
  
It had been during one of the closing numbers, and since there was a shortage of more "important" guests, when the foreigner had asked for the dance, she had cheekily accepted. Remembering him vaguely as a proficient partner, she was pleased to find him actually rather talented on the dance floor. However, when he went in for a low dip, Nini was perturbed to find herself flat on her back. A string of quite fluent curses died in her throat, though, when she saw the man collapsed several feet away. Calling over Chocolat, she accompanied her unconscious partner to a side room, where he was laid out to recover. Nini felt bad just leaving him there, so she sat on the floor next to him, enjoying a break from the pulsating music inside.  
  
Suddenly, the doors burst open, revealing a panting but ever-jolly Zidler.  
  
"Nini dear, I've been looking everywhere for you!" he began with unnecessary zeal.  
  
"And why in heavens name would you be looking for little old me?" she asked innocently, not wanting to return just yet.  
  
"Well, it just so happens that there is a rather wealthy looking gent out there intent on finding you. Far be it from me to deprive a valued customer his hearts desire." Zidler replied, flashing his winning smile. Catching sight of the man lying next to her, the smile melted smoothly into a knowing grin. ".but I see you're already busy. Pardon the intrusion, I was just leaving." Zidler backed towards the entrance, but when he was just moments from leaving, a flash of recognition crossed his face.  
  
"He's that damn narcoleptic that's always sneaking in here!" Zidler thundered. "Why on Earth are you wasting your time with him? He's always broke!"  
  
Narcoleptic. Well, that explained a lot. Rolling her eyes, Nini stood to face her boss.  
  
"Harold, don't be stupid. Can't you see he's a bit out of sorts." She saw his eyes ram over the form on the floor, and had to laugh at his humbled look. Did he truly believe she would be so careless as to make a move without checking the size of the mans wallet? Satisfied that Harold would make no further complaints, she ushered him out, assuring him, "I just want to wait until he awakens. You wouldn't want him to die right here in your establishment, would you?" And with that, he was gone.  
  
Returning to her spot on the floor, Nini was pleased to find the man lightly snoring, a sound that dispelled the look of death that had enshrouded him. Outside, the bands tempo picked up, and the sounds of laughter filled the air. It seemed that a twilight crowd had shown up. It was unusual, but not unheard of. Reluctantly, she rose and turned to leave. If it had really gotten busy, she would most likely be needed, and she did not feel like another search party finding her.  
  
But before she could take a step, a hand shot out, clutching her ankle. The man was awake. The sudden movement had startled her, causing her to lose her balance. Behind her, there was a rustling sound, and without warning, an arm shot around her waist, steadying her. 


	3. Passion

Unconsciously, her hand flew towards his, but they were no longer in the room. They were back on the dance floor, hands clasped before them. Before Nini had a chance to recover, the word Passion resounded around her, and the Argentinean tightened his hold as he guided her lithe form in a dizzying spin, ending in a close embrace.  
  
Eyes closed, she allowed herself to slip back into history, fearing what would come next from the man holding her.  
  
She had long since regained her balance, but his hold on her refused to loosen. Turning nimbly to face him, she put on her working face and said cheekily, "Much obliged for the rescue sir, but I should really get back out there now." Expecting him to let go, she moved confidently toward the door. However, she was irritated to find his grip tight as ever.  
  
Leaning down ever so slightly, he whispered in her ear, "You are a beautiful woman. I love sex." She grinned wearily at the clichéd compliment, and managed to twist skillfully out of his grasp. The puff of breath she had smelt was proof enough that he had managed to hit the bar after all, and was in fact drunk. It seemed to be a constant affliction for many of the patrons, she mused sardonically.  
  
As she neared the door, she realized there were no sounds of pursuit and looked back toward the man. He looked so helpless, standing where she had left him, still dumbfounded, waiting for her to return. She gave him a small, sympathetic smile, and muttered, "You couldn't afford me," before returning to the dance floor.  
  
It was nearly a week before they met again, just after Satine's fall, the night she met with the Duke. Apparently it had gone well, for Zidler had proclaimed to one and all that the Moulin Rough was to be transformed into a theatre. Word spread quickly, and before long a celebration party was planned atop a nearby building. Mad gatherings free of customers were rare treats, and therefore not things to be missed. The evening found Nini sprawled on the floor near the roofs edge, bottle of absinth in hand, laughing hysterically at Chocolat's latest quip.  
  
Turning to get a better look at her fellow revelers, she caught sight of a vaguely familiar form. It was that man, the narcoleptic from the other night. Leaned against a wall, he stared seductively at a woman in a soot gray ensemble, whispering sweet nothings in her ear. The woman gave a drunken laugh and walked to join her beckoning friends. Nini rolled her eyes, thinking 'He probably used that tired old line again,' then decided to have a bit of fun.  
  
"Don't worry sir, you'll get the next one, I'm sure of it," she said, slinking one arm around his neck and giving him a reassuring nod. Looking down at her, a grin crept over his face. In one swift movement, he bent down and swept her into his arms.  
  
"I think you're right," he growled, heading down into the depths of the hotel toward his room. Perhaps it was a whim, or possibly the numerous drinks she had come across recently, but she didn't struggle or yell. Instead, she lounged in his arms and let herself be carried away into the night. 


	4. Morning After

Soft morning light streamed through the unbarred window, beckoning Nini to awake. It had been a long time since she woke to the sun on her face. In the Moulin Rouge, heavy curtains covered any and all portals to the outside world, completing its surreal illusion. For a moment she was scared, not knowing where she was or what had happened. Her throbbing head was testimony to a night of debauchery more than even she was used to, but that still didn't answer here immediate question. She tried to get up out of the bed, but found something holding her back. Her muddled mind didn't bother to reason this out. Instead, she took stock of all she could see from her vertical position.  
  
Covering her was a rough cotton sheet, cheap but warm. Warmer, at least, than the thin silk covers she was used to. Below her, worn wooden floors ran to meet dirty cream walls. In the corner, paint was chipped away, revealing a red brick foundation. It was disgusting, poor, she told herself, yet a part of her couldn't help but see a rustic, cozy room. The honesty of it was refreshing, no distractions or glitz, just the bare essentials.  
  
Eventually, her gaze fell to the mop of curly brown hair beside her. Still tired, her mind fought to put these facts together and form some reasonable explanation of where she was. Eventually, it all came to her. The roof, the absinth, and the man who swept her off her feet, to here it seemed. The same man who was now pinning her to the bed. After a few minutes of scheming and planning, she came up with a way out of the predicament. Reaching down, she found the expected arm clasped possessively around her waist. She checked to make sure he was still out cold, and then proceeded to pry the hand one finger at a time from her side. Once that was done, some artful maneuvering was all it took to escape.  
  
She hated to stay a moment longer, as any lingering would risk the man catching her in mid-flight, but last night she had been wearing one of her favorite pieces, and couldn't bear to leave it behind. Unfortunately, it seemed that in the heat of the moment it had been tossed God knows where. It was nowhere on the floor, the table was bare, and the lamp above unadorned. A glance at the open window made her flinch, but before she lost all hope, there was one place left to check. The bed.  
  
Of course it wasn't on top; that would be far too easy. Holding her breath, Nini pulled back the sheet and prayed that the sleeping figure didn't awaken. Halfway down the bed, she spotted the telltale sheen of her missing item. Her smile, however, lasted only as long as it took to see where it lay. Calloused hands gripped the sheer fabric tightly, a challenge too anyone considering its removal. With a dejected sight, she turned and walked out, easing the door closed behind her. Without a backwards glance, she headed back to the Moulin Rouge, leaving the precious piece for lost within the mans grasp. 


	5. Run

By the next day, Nini had nearly managed to forget about the previous nights encounter. Besides a small pang of regret at the loss of her treasured chemise, it was easy enough to ignore the feelings that had been plaguing her since she left. The loneliness, the longing to see him again, it was all petty emotions brought on by a moment of weakness; a lesson for the future. Resolved to go on as usual, she gave a final tug to her corset and flung aside the dressing room curtain to reveal a calloused hand holding the rumpled form that was once her lovely chemise.  
  
"You forgot this in your rush to escape this morning."  
  
Of course it was him. Nini almost had to laugh at the irony; just when she had put him out of her mind, there he was again. She reached out for the cloth, but came up empty handed; her chemise now dangled a few feet higher, just out of her reach. She gave the man a fixed look, and he silently thanked some higher power that looks in fact could not kill. Smiling down at her, he said in his sweetest voice, "Now, now, mi amore, none of that. Come walk with me. It is a beautiful day outside, and your face could use some sunlight." With that, he swept past the curtains and left her standing, bewildered. One the one hand, she was fairly sure that somewhere in there was an insult, and she would not stand for that. But on the other, this might be her only chance of recovering what was rightfully hers. Finally, anger overcame reason, and she raced to catch up, leaving behind a trail of whispers.  
  
He had gotten half way down the block before she reached him. By that time, she had discovered that cobblestones were most definitely not designed for running in heels and stockings and corsets were no protection against the bitter cold of a Montmartre morning. All this combined with the infuriating sight of the very man she was chasing flirting lewdly with a streetwalker and holding her chemise sent he over the edge.  
  
With all the strength she could muster, Nini gripped his upper arm and swung him around to face her. He didn't resist, just turned to deliver a quizzical look. Slowly, he crossed his arms before him, stroking his chin as if in deep concentration. Finally meeting her eyes, he said in an accented drawl, "I didn't think you'd come, .but I'm glad you did."  
  
A moment ago, she had been enraged, had planned to reel off an apparently spontaneous tirade that would bring him to his knees. She even had a crystal clear mental image of herself standing triumphantly over him, rescued chemise in hand. But the absurdity of the situation held her back. There he stood, giving her a cocky smile, while still leaning over the streetwalker, who was pulling insistently on his shirt, a pout playing at the edges of her mouth.  
  
Instead, she went with the first idea her muddled mind came across. Her hand drew back and before he could react, she left a stinging mark across his cheek. Without a second thought, she grabbed the chemise from him and flounced back toward the towering windmill. Behind her, the woman gave a surprised gasp, which dissolved into a fit of laughter. Footsteps told her the man had left her to her pleasures, and was now in hot pursuit.  
  
She fought the urge to bolt, knowing her shoes would not allow it and dreading the thought of being rescued, becoming a damsel in distress. So had held high, she continued on her way, ignoring the growing presence behind her. 


	6. Fear

Despite her concentration on the footfall steadily gaining on her, the forceful hand that landed on her shoulder startled her into a rigid stop. This was what she had feared. In her anger, she had lashed out, and now came retribution. There was no Zidler or Chocolat here to protect her, and his vice-like grip left little room for hope in a lesser action. Her eyes scanned the ground, vainly searching for anything that would help, but she came up empty.  
  
The grip on her shoulder shifted and instinctively she looked up, locking gazes with the man. All thoughts of deception or pleading vanished; pushed aside by the cold lump that had settled in her throat, weighing heavily on her heart. Terror engulfed her, thicker than any smoke or fog even Montmartre could produce. It clouded her senses, transforming the man before her into a monster; impossibly large eyes that burned with demon fire fixed above a cruel, unflinching sneer.  
  
Yet seconds, then minutes passed and nothing happened. No raised fists or angry words. Even the once painfully tight hold on her shoulder had slid down her arm and became a comforting hand in hers. Cautiously, the wave of dread receded, and before her stood not a monster, but once more a man. One who looked as though he was caught between concern and confusion, all the while whispering reassuring words to her under his breath. Finally accepting that nothing more was forthcoming, Nini released a breath unconsciously held and wiped away the tears that had formed in her eyes, trying valiantly to compose herself.  
  
Without warning, the man moved, pulling her along behind him. Before she could protest, he looked over his shoulder and, catching her eye, said, "You look like you could use a drink," and gave her a quick smile. She hadn't realized they were so close to it, but looking ahead she saw the familiar sign proclaiming Bar Absinth. Music from inside drifted out to greet them; a carefree melody whose lyrics were lost in a sea of voices. Wild laughter and calls for more drinks dispelled any hesitations she may have had, as the familiar atmosphere enveloped her.  
  
As they passed through the doors, words of welcome erupted and the man greeted them with an extravagant bow, obviously an age-old joke between the friends as they returned the gesture grandly. As for Nini, she waved flirtatiously at some familiar customers, but on the whole walked silently forward. It was common knowledge that on the rare occasion that a Diamond Dog did lower herself to drink among the ruffians, it was always in a pack. The idea of one consenting to going out alone was preposterous.  
  
Oblivious to the unabashed stares of his fellow patrons, the man led Nini to a recently vacated tabled in the corner and returned shortly with a bottle of Absinth, a tin of sugar cubes, trowels, two glasses, a match box and a jug of water. Silently, each went about the preparation of their drink. Under their careful ministrations, the oily liquid transformed into an opaline green, and, with a silent toast, they took their first drinks. 


	7. Drinks & Memories

A/N: To anyone who was following this story, I am so sorry for the long delay. With summer came sever writers block. I have no excuse. Though I know this is short, it did get me past that fun little spot that I couldn't seem to write, and I hope to actually finish this one day. As always, I own no one here. Though in my perfect universe.but we won't go there. Ok, on with the story.  
  
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The next hour or so was spent draining the bottle, and along the way Nini's nerves seemed to loosen, along with her tongue. Before long, stories were swapped and raucous laughter filled their small corner of the bar. After a particularly rousing story involving a sailor and a piercing gone horribly wrong she was reduced to a fit of giggles that simply would not subside. Reaching for her glass in an attempt to drown them out, her blouse shifted, revealing a shock to the mans appraising eyes. He otherwise unmarred flesh was interrupted by a raised round patch of red just below what was usually on display. Forcing an easy smile, he carefully probed, "Looks as though he isn't the only one with battle scars, now is he," motioning to the spot on her chest.  
  
"What are you prattling on about?" she said thoughtlessly. When she finally traced his stare back to the offending mark, an exaggerated sigh escaped her, complete with eyes rolled back in mock frustration. "Ah, that. You know, I'd almost forgotten it was there, been so long since it happened." Her voice had taken on a dreamy, wistful tone, and for a moment it seemed that she had forgotten anyone else was around. The crash of an empty bottle nearby, however, snapped her eyes back on his. As a drunken laugh bubbled up from within her, she went on. "Actually, I'm surprised you didn't notice the other night, or at least that morning. But I suppose you were horribly drunk so I shall forgive you." Trying to keep a pompous gleam in her eyes as she said this proved too hard, and so she settle for another sip of absinth. Meanwhile, the man had played along, giving a repentant nod at the end of her scolding, but his eyes never left her and his drink stood untouched.  
  
Yet as the silence around them swelled to an uncomfortable pitch, he seemed to have come to a decision and leaned forward, as if to share a magnificent secret. Beckoning for closer, he whispered so only they two could hear, "So, what is your story?" A grin spread across her face at the prospect of sharing her tale, all cynicism or trepidation muddled by the traitorous drink in her hand.  
  
"Well, you might call this," she began, fingering the spot gently with her free hand, "my initiation to the underworld, courtesy of me pop. He weren't a drunkard, which is a shame, cause I probably could have handled that. No, he was a gambling man if there ever was one. He'd bet on just about anything; cockfights, dogfights; he favored the ones with a bit o' blood, said it was a bonus. Anyway, this didn't leave much time for him to be working, so of course it was me who got a job, soon as I was able. I started when I was about 9, for the butcher; he said he could use someone to run deliveries, but really I think he just felt sorry for me. Whatever the reason, he kept me on for a good many years, doing odd jobs, whatever he had no time for. Now, it must have been a good 7 or 8 years after I stared that Doux Celui came along."  
  
At this point she paused to let out a slow breath. Across from her, the man leaned back in his chair, fingering his drink absently. Throughout her story he had paid rapt attention, and could have sworn that he saw tears in her eyes near the end, but when he looked up there was nothing to suggest they had ever existed. She was staring hazily off in to space, having completely lost her train of thought.  
  
"Doux Celui," he let the name roll over his tongue. It had struck a chord within him, like something from a distant memory, but he couldn't quite recall what that was. Eager for the story to continue, he gently touched her hand, urging her on. "What happened?"  
  
"Mmm, I remember it as if it were yesterday," she murmured, a bittersweet grin etched across her face. "She was the last of my deliveries that day. A real nice order it was, too. At the time, all I was thinking about was the kind of tip someone with that kind of money might be good for. Well, I get to the door and a lady answers, wearing one of the finest frocks I had ever laid my eyes on. She seemed awful worried, and after I'm all paid up and ready to leave, she gives me a real appraising look, then asks how I'd feel about a bit o' extra money. Course, it sounded just fine by me. All she said was that I'd have to entertain a few gents for the evening. I was quite the naïve one then, wasn't I?" She shook her head despondently. "Suffice to say, it wasn't a hostess job she was offering. As for this," she said, pointing to the now covered mark, "well, let's just say that it doesn't take long to learn that there is no backing out. Once you're in, 'no' loses all meaning, if it had any before." 


End file.
